


On Making A Living

by Sister of Silence (Orcbait)



Series: Perpetual Nonesense [5]
Category: Warhammer 40.000
Genre: Emotional/Psychological Abuse, M/M, Male Homosexuality, Suspense
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-28
Updated: 2014-04-28
Packaged: 2018-01-21 03:35:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,263
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1536140
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Orcbait/pseuds/Sister%20of%20Silence
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>London, 1888. That subtlety was not one of Alistair Blackpool's winning personality traits was nothing new to Lord Francis Stokes, but his latest show of callous disregard for both their safety most definitely takes the cake.</p>
            </blockquote>





	On Making A Living

**Author's Note:**

  * For [MadameWinter](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MadameWinter/gifts).



Francis did not want to rise but the doorbell rang and it was highly unlikely that the only other person currently present in his house was going to get up. He rose with a sigh from the warmth of his bed and put on his dressing gown. His bare feet on the cold floor reminded him winter was near. He shivered and went down the stairs as he raked his fingers through his red hair in a vain attempt to tame it.

The doorbell rang again, longer and more aggressive now. “Yes, yes!” Francis called irritably as he hurried to the front door. What was it now.

“Package delivery, sir,” the errand boy said when Francis opened the door. He eyed the young boy suspiciously. He had not ordered anything.

“Thank you,” Francis replied after a long moment. He paid the young man his fare, accepted the package and went back inside. He strode across the hall and put the package on the glass table in the sunroom. He was about to open it when he saw the addressee: 'To: Mr. A. Blackpool,' followed by Francis his own address. He let go of the package promptly, eyeing it suspiciously once more before shouting, loudly: _“ALISTAIR!”_

Francis tapped his foot impatiently as he waited. It took all of ten minutes before Alistair appeared. And in nothing but his underpants at that.

“Are you crazy?!” Francis exclaimed as he quickly pulled the sun curtains closed in front of the large windows and hoped desperately the nosey Lady Winthrope next door hadn't seen.

Alistair merely raised an eyebrow, as if uncertain whether an actual question or not.

“A package? With your name on it? _HERE?”_ Francis piped. His voice was protesting under his anxiety but for once he didn't care.

Alistair shrugged as he picked up the package. “Safer.”

“Than some East End public house? Why, yes, I should hope so!” Francis retorted as he put his hands on his hips. “Do you have any idea what you've done?” he continued. “I live alone. _ALONE._ Everyone knows that and now, suddenly, packages are being delivered here addressed to a man that isn't me!”

Alistair looked at him sideways, package under his arm, and clearly not impressed by Francis' little tantrum. “Tell them I am your annoying brother.”

Francis threw his hands in the air. “Annoying? YES. But brother?! It must have escaped your attention but we don't exactly have the same last name.” Or station. But he swallowed that one.

A little smile teased onto Alistair's features. “Half brother?” he suggested, wriggling his eyebrows and playfully slapping Francis' rear as he passed the fuming Lord.

“I keep forgetting how disgusting you are,” Francis snapped moodily. The familial insinuation had been completely unnecessary.

“That's not what you said last eve,” Alistair clipped back as he disappeared into the hall with a bark of laughter. And a good thing, too, because flinging the priceless Ming vase standing beside Francis at Alistair's head had suddenly seemed like a good idea.

Francis stalked after Alistair, resisting the mounting urge to throw crockery at the commoner. That's right. _Commoner._ With his crude built and short stature and rough hands and broad shoulders and hard chest and... what in the Devil's sordid name is wrong with me?! Francis sighed. When he entered his bedroom – his, not theirs, he reminded himself – Alistair had already dumped the package on a chair and collapsed back into bed.

“You're not going to open it?” Francis asked as he looked at the package and wondered what it held. Alistair made a noise that Francis decided to interpret as 'no'. “Why not?” Francis inquired as he climbed into bed too.

“Don't need it.” Alistair rumbled, turning on his side and away from Francis.

“Then why did you order it?!” Francis exclaimed.

“Don't need it NOW,” Alistair amended grumpily.

Francis scowled. Alistair had a point. He hated that. He also hated it when he was kept in the dark. “What did you order?”

“None of your business.”

None of his... “None of my business?!” Francis replied in outrage. “It's in my house – in my bedroom!” Francis grabbed Alistair's shoulder and arm and pulled him over to face him. “Tell me what it is this instant, Alistair!”

Alistair turned, a smirk playing around his lips and his green eyes alight with amusement. “You really want to know what is in it, don't you?”

“YES.” Francis replied immediately. And Alistair's smirk twitched wider still.

“All you needed to do was ask, honey,” Alistair answered as he pushed himself up into a sitting position and indicated the package. Francis frowned but Alistair shrugged. “You want to know, you go get it.”

Francis got up with a sight and went to retrieve it. “You could just tell me.”

“Where's the fun in that?” Alistair replied when Francis returned to his side. “Besides,” Alistair added as he pulled Francis onto his lap. “I know you like unwrapping packages.”

Francis nodded and nestled against his chest despite himself, package and all.

“Go on then, love,” Alistair all but whispered in his ear. Francis suppressed a pleasant shiver that rapidly threatened to snake down his spine, trying to focus instead upon the package. It was securely wrapped and must have come from far. Francis struggled a little with opening it, Alistair's wandering hands not particularly helping.

A little noise escaped Francis as Alistair nuzzled his neck though the pleasant sensations died a wilting death the moment Francis opened the package.

Amid the packaging cloth laid three knives, snugly packed in leather sleeves. Francis stared at them. And he could feel Alistair smile against his skin.

“Do you like them?” Alistair cooed as he leaned across Francis his shoulder, leaning his cheek against Francis' as he reached for one of the knives. “I know I do.”

“I... what? No.” Francis spluttered as he watched with apprehension as Alistair draw one of the knives from its sleeves.

“Pity...” Alistair remarked absently as he let the light play across the blade. It reflected off of it's long, keen edge.

“Why did you order these?” Francis all but squeaked. He shifted but found Alistair's free arm had snaked around his waist, locking him to the other man's chest.

“Because I liked them,” Alistair replied as if it was a perfectly valid reason, his green eyes as glued to the blade. Alistair held the blade up for Francis to see, and far closer to his face than Francis would have preferred. “German craftsmanship, see how the metal was turned to reinforce it during smithing?”

Francis nodded hesitantly. “What do you need them for?”

Alistair smiled as if privy to a joke before answering. “Why, my new job of course, love.”

“J-job?” Francis managed.

“Hmhm.” Alistair returned. “Wilson hired me after all.”

“Wilson.” Francis echoed dumbly.

Alistair crooked an eyebrow. “The knacker, down on Winthrop street.”

“Oh. _OH.”_ Francis replied when it suddenly sank in. If the butcher had hired Alistair it all made perfect sense. “Right. Of course.”

“Did I frighten you?” Alistair asked, his expression the portrait of regret and concern.

Francis smiled sheepishly. “A little.”

“I apologise,” Alistair returned mournfully as he embraced Francis, the knife still in hand. “I didn't mean to, Fanny.”

“I know,” Francis replied, terribly relieved as he put his arms around Alistair's neck, his head to his shoulder. “It's all right. I am happy you found a job.”

Alistair held Francis close, rubbing Francis' back soothingly. A smirk slowly unfurled across his features as he ran his thumb across the knife. “Yes, me too.”

**Author's Note:**

> NOTE: A lot of time and hard work went into the creation and publication of this story and as such it is very dear to me. I would love to hear what you thought on it. And please, share this story freely but credit me and link back to me. Thank you!


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